


Recuperative Limits

by Silmarils (semit)



Series: Melkor's Choice [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22941229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semit/pseuds/Silmarils
Summary: Melkor explores the limits of the his recuperative skills.Each work in this series can be read as a standalone fic.
Series: Melkor's Choice [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648705
Kudos: 10





	Recuperative Limits

"I have been unable to inflict sufficient damage upon mine self,” Melkor exhaled breathlessly. He stood unclad from the waist up in his own apartments, sweat glistened on his brow. He was panting with effort and apparent frustration after hours of pointed slashing to his own body. To witness, Melkor presented a manner like one unsound of mind, however his actions were truly a practical study to probe his limits. The damage he caused healed nearly instantly, but of imparting a large wound to his body, he seemed incapable.

Still, a molar Melkor had managed to pry free in one horrific wrenching experiment. And Lo! It grew back! _Still, it’s just a tooth. I wonder if an entire limb would regrow. Hmm. Nasty business to explore that._ And none to experiment on save mine own body. Ichor streaked across his chest though he had cleaned his face and neck. The trembling elf thrall witnessed all these deeds in sheer horror, now pressing its body against the farthest wall trembling in a futile effort to make itself smaller. _Please Master do not turn your fury upon me_ , it worried for Melkor did often vent latent anger on the Eldar slave. "Stab me," he spoke plainly to the balrog, Gothmog.

“My Lord?” asked the Balrog, now standing before the Vala in a human form since a balrog’s full height was simply too tall to stand in the rooms, “You truly wish me to impale you with a dagger?” Melkor handed him his personal blade which Gothmog accepted, now turning it in his hands. Glistening with the Melkor’s red ichor, the blade was a gift from Mairon and wickedly sharp.

“Indeed. Please me with this action,” The Dark Vala grasped the hands of the captain and pressed the tip of the blade to the center of his abdomen to indicate where he wished the strike to fall. To this, Gothmog stared at him hesitantly. A sigh of exasperation left Melkor’s lips, “Gothmog, I must test the extent of my reparative powers. This is a purely a study. A practical matter if you will. We must know our limits in order to perform skillfully on the field of battle. This knowledge is key, and a must especially as we face the Malgors. Captain, it is an honor I grant thee to perform this task upon mine person.”

Truly Gothmog did not wish to mar the flawless body of his Master. The balrog also questioned the wisdom of such an action. His Master looked up at him almost pleadingly and seductively, the upward glance required for in a human form, Gothmog did tower over his Master, “My Lord, with highest respect, it is not my wish to harm you thus. I must also council you that if there is even the slightest possibility that such a wound cannot be healed, the threat to your body and kingdom is real…”

“Do it!” and Melkor tugged at his arm willing him to act, “And Gothmog, don’t hold back. This is for my kingdom, and I must know my limits in order to triumph.”

“As you wish,” conceded the balrog, and Melkor dropped his hands to his side to receive the gift of pain. Gothmog draw his arm back to gain leverage and he plunged the knife to the hilt into Melkor’s center with a vicious stab.

Melkor gasped from the impact and crushing pain, he then seemed to swoon and teeter unsteadily, adding in a soft whisper, “Oh Gothmog.” After the knife was withdrawn, he fell forward into the balrogs strong arms with a sigh. Gothmog embraced him still holding the blade and Melkor’s hands instinctively covered the wound as it oozed dark blood. The danger was real for if he lost consciousness, any attempt at recuperative attempts would be impossible while unawares. He then squeezed his eyes shut as he willed his body to heal. A purple light began to glow around the wound as he knitted the flesh anew. Although he healed in near instant, he was breathless. _This pain is a liability. I wonder if I can suppress it again as I did before?_

“Thank you, dear Captain,” Melkor turned his head up to receive a kiss and Gothmog obliged. Next, he walked a bit too unsteadily to a table flush with instruments of torture. Many were cleaned and brought to his rooms for Angbang had no shortage of implements of torture for his pleasure or that of his officers.

Melkor selected a device that appeared that it could also function as a garden vine cutter. Gothmog and the elf watched as Melkor then made a study of his hands and sighed. _A finger perhaps? Which one? No. No fingers._ Curiously, he then sat on a stray chair to remove a boot. “Come Gothmog,” and the balrog obeyed accepting the cutter from Melkor.

The Dark Vala’s feet were pale and perfect in every way, “Just the small one then,” directed Melkor gesturing to his foot.

“Oh Master, no!” the balrog was horrified as the prospect of amputating his Master’s small toe as part of a grim experiment.

Melkor frowned, “Come now, Captain,” he seethed with displeasure, “Cowardice does not suit you nor endear you to me. The time for hesitation has passed when you impaled me on mine own blade you bastard!” And he slapped the balrog. Hard.

Gothmog gazed at his Lord, “I obey thine orders always, Lord,” and after so many years of service, the balrog knew his Master’s displeasure was not truly aimed at him. Instead, he know that Melkor only possessed displaced anger at the pain and injured pride, for the Vala did nearly lose consciousness and fell into Gothmog’s arms.

Melkor then pointed sharply to his foot, “In order to cater to your delicate sensitivities, I will choose to suppress my pain then to make it easier on you. Begin!” Melkor’s power flared in an experiment of pain suppression, for minimizing agony of this degree would surely be a boon in battle.

The balrog then reluctantly opened the cruelly curved tool, positioned it properly, and snapped it closed on the digit with a bracing grip. Although Melkor’s chest heaved with trembling breaths of anticipation, he felt no pain nor did he cry out when hot ichor spurted from his foot. Immediately he set about repairing the damage and blinding purple light flared from the direction of he wound. When the flash receded, a new toe was attached to his foot more. It did not grow into place, it merely appeared. It took a moment for the nail to appear and when it did, it too simply faded into existence.

“Curious,” Melkor mused, picking up the amputated toe from the floor he studied it. “Hey Carir,” he called to the elf, “Catch!” and he tossed the toe to elf, an offering that was not accepted.

“No, no, Master, why do you do this to yourself Why!” sobbed the elf.

“Silence!!” Melkor thundered and the room shook with the ferocity of his anger and he shot the elf a look of throbbing fury. His eyes were alight! How dare it speak when not asked a question! Hmm. Perhaps witnessing these practical exercises is too much for it. _Weak! I will discipline it later._

He turned to Gothmog removing his other boot to stand barefoot, “Are the armies readied once again?”

“They are, my Lord. We await your order.”

“Excellent. Let me show you Malgorian,” he waved a hand to display what can be termed as a type of mirror in the air the edged with the purple unlight of his power, “Here!” Before them a kingdom came into view. It was a land of trade, prosperity, and worship of a type of deity. Gold changed hands, stallions were breed, and tournaments were held. All were well fed, and the gears of commerce were well oiled. It was a place quite unlike the harsh existence of Melkor’s kingdom, and the Dark Lord desired this land greatly, but first he must transport his armies there. The land remained hidden from the West due to its great distance and the isolation behind hard slopes of staggering mountains.

“I want this!” he gestured to the image before he chose to let it fade, “You will be with me as my Captain and we will have many victories,” He approached Gothmog and allowed the balrog to embrace him about the waist. He wanted him clearly. Looking up, Melkor kissed him with unusual gentleness. The Vala’s current state of arousal was fueled more by thoughts of glory than for the balrog. Gothmog knew this but cared not for he truly loved Melkor and knew that the Vala harbored tender emotions for him in hard, though Melkor would never admit it. They shared a deep, long-term friendship which provided Gothmog with some liberties, forgiveness for the occasional bold action, and even was permitted candor at times.

“You will be at mine side as I cut through their soft, pillowed, armies and drink deeply from all they have. We will conquer and rejoice, turning their neatly lined gardens of trees into fiery ruin,” he chuckled.

Gothmog then stroked Melkor’s face and kissed him, “I would be happy to please you.”

“Would you now?”


End file.
